City of Men
by M. Tullius Cicero
Summary: Set in London (not in US!), Phoenix, Miles and Franziska are brought together by a series of events. They strive to find out what the truth is, while being challenged by others. Is the truth really worth it? Mediafire link to a folder with all the music used in this story coming up shortly. PS: City of "Men" - plural of Man, as in homo sapiens. In progress.
1. Foreword

**Foreword**

This is my first ever fan fiction. It is going to be written in a mix of prose and script, so that I get that immediacy from script-format dialogues.

The genre is best described as 'noir' with plenty of black humour, but I'm a bit hesitant to give it a clear genre. I don't want to restrict the story to a certain readers- this is meant to be for all. At least, that's what I'm aiming for. In places, the story will be dark and brutal, and will contain mature language and content.

It's going to be set in London, a part of an AU of Ace Attorney series. I want to explore the 'what if...?' aspects of the series. What if the justice system is useless? What if criminals aren't brought to justice, unlike in the AA series where justice is rendered quickly?

Many characters from the series will appear in some form, but don't expect them to be the exact carbon copy from the games. This story aims to be realistic as possible, after all.

And although you don't have to be familiar with every game in AA, I suggest that you play the games first. It will give you a more than good enough idea of where my story comes from. Besides, it's an excellent series, far better than reading my (probably) unpolished and flawed work!

I don't own the characters or the Ace Attorney series. They're all Capcom's.

And I have put up a pseudo-soundtrack for this series, to hope to combine music and my work together. I have put up the titles of the music where necessary, and although I would love to give you the links for the music on Youtube, I can't. I have put up the name of the track, the artist and the original work the track is from in between the story as I go, so that the music kind of acts like a cue. I don't know if this will work well, but I really recommend you to look up the music on Youtube and have it on a separate tab while you read my work! Even if you don't like my story, at least enjoy the music! I am also planning to have a bundle of the soundtrack ready on mediafire as a .zip file. I'll put up a link on it on my FF profile page.

I really hope you enjoy my work. Please feel free to leave comments and constructive criticisms etc. and I appreciate any reviews and comments. You have my thanks, all of you.

Yours truly,

M. Tullius Cicero

PS: It is so much better to see this 3/4 or 1/2 size format. I prefer that format, but completely up to you. You can change the format at the very top right hand corner of the webpage.


	2. Prologue

A man is sleeping on a large double bed. It is quite clear that he is no sound sleeper; he tosses and turns in between the sheets while mumbling incoherently. A mobile phone, a box of sleeping pills and a half empty glass of water lie on a bedside table. The room is a bedroom/study by the looks of it. At the present time, the room feels more cluttered and cramped than it really is, mainly because of all the clutter and paperwork on his large desk. The rest of the room is very tidy, with his work suit, all ironed and spotless, hanging outside his big wardrobe for the morning.

Suddenly, his mobile phone goes off, emitting a loud, piercing noise. The man groans and he groggily reaches for the phone on the table. After some fumbling, he manages to do so, and he brings it for a closer inspection. The screen reads 2.21am. He sighs, and places the phone right next to his right ear.

Man: (Half-asleep with his eyes still closed) Hello?

There is no response. The man can only hear ragged breaths. After a few moments in this awkward silence, the man feels more awake and opens his eyes in confusion. He decides to break the ice.

Man: Hello? Who is this?

Man's voice: ... Miles, it's me.

Miles: (Sitting upright, frustrated) My God, Wright! Do you know what time it is now? I'm having enough trouble sleeping as it is! (Pause) Make this quick, please. What's going on?

There is yet another tenuous pause. By now, Miles feels quite curious and at the same time, anxious, about the phone call. He presses the matter further.

Miles: Talk to me, Phoenix. Why are you calling me at this hour? Did something happen?

Phoenix: (Resignedly) I... I don't understand a thing anymore, and I don't know what to do, Miles... They've been toying with us all this time ever since we took on this case...

Miles: I don't unde-

Phoenix: We could've probably stopped this from happening. No, we should've foreseen this coming. It's our fault... It's all our-

Miles: (Shouts) Phoenix! You're not answering my questions! What the hell is going on?

Phoenix: I... I can't talk about this over the phone. (Pause) Turn on the TV now. It should give you an idea of the mess we're in right now.

He hangs up on Miles. Miles is puzzled, and he looks absentmindedly at his phone for a while. He then gets up and walks to his living room.

His flat, located near his workplace in the City of London, is spacious and tidy. It is so neat that there are no traces of life around, except for the bedroom. The kitchen adjoining the living room, the bathroom, the storage space... Everything is in its proper place and orderly, bathed in a soft orange glow from the streetlights below. But Miles likes it that way. He feels that homes are a means to escape from society and at the end of the day, he wants to come home and immerse himself in the work that continues to fascinate him every day. It would be an understatement to say that he liked his job as a prosecutor of the Crown Prosecution Service. It is a job he takes pleasure in, despite it paying him less than most of his banker friends from university.

As he picks up the remote from the modernistic glass coffee table, he ruefully muses the fact that he would not have been able to afford this lovely place without family connections.

He switches on the TV, and begins to fumble for the button that switches channels almost immediately. He is still half-asleep, and he would like to just get this over and done with and go back to bed while he could feel the sleeping pills still in his blood. After all, he had only slept for an hour before he was so rudely woken up by Phoenix.

TV Advert: Feeling lonely? Text 'PLAYMATE' for sexy-

Woman: Satisfy your desires with online poker-

Man: Feeling peckish? Order a pizza-

Man: The key to success lies in your hands-

Miles: (Frustrated while still flicking through the channels) Goddamn cable TV... seriously, does anyone watch all these? Ah!

He finally finds the channel he was looking for: BBC News 24. His eyes bore into the TV screen as he takes in all the information.

Male newsreader: -ccording to the reports that have been just flooding in, a man has been found dead in Tottenham, north London. The Metropolitan Police have identified him as-

_The Cloud - Jim Guthrie, Sword & Sworcery_

His eyes slowly widen as he processes the news. He sits down, shaking in disbelief. He continues to just watch the TV, frozen in shock. He doesn't know what to do next, lost and confused, just like Phoenix. Then his blood starts to rush to his head, filling him with fury.

Miles: (Throwing down his remote) This CAN'T BE! What have we done?

He lowers his head between his hands and starts to rock back and fort, distraught. He doesn't move for a while. Everything has gone silent to Miles; he has withdrawn himself from the world to dull the pain, the guilt and his shock. He feels the emotions taking over his body and soul, however, and finds that he can't concentrate on logic and reason at all.

He stays like that for a few minutes. Were he more aware of his surroundings, he would have noticed that a car alarm has started to go off in the distance since he watched the breaking news. But he doesn't give a damn about anything right now. Except for one thing. His head snaps up at the thought, and cold reason returns to him at once. He gets up from the couch very quickly, causing him to sway a little. He strides back to his bedroom and picks up his phone off the cluttered desk.

His fingers quickly work through the buttons, and he dials Phoenix's mobile number. After some time, Miles begins to be agitated and he starts to pace around the room.

Miles: Come on... It's not that hard. Pick up the bloody phone, Phoenix Wright… Please.

Suddenly, he hears a click.

Miles: Hello? Phoenix? I-

Voicemail: I'm sorry, but the person you're calling is not available. Please leave a message after-

He groans angrily, and hangs up. He tries calling the same number.

Voicemail: I'm sorry-

He hangs up again, and this time, tries Phoenix's home phone number.

Miles: I know you're there, Phoenix… Just answer my call, please, and talk to me...

After two minutes of the constant dialling tone, he finally gives up. He sits down at his desk after having paced around the room in frenzy, and he looks at all the files around him. He then decides to push everything off the desk, letting all the files fall around him and creating more clutter.

He is beyond caring now.

He looks sadly at the now empty desk, reflecting on what's happened in the last few minutes.

Miles: What have we done...? Phoenix.


	3. Chapter 1

_Singapore Ambient (Part 2) - Michael McCann, Deus Ex: Human Revolution_

It is 6.45am at Cannon Street station, London. The commuters have already started to flood the City, coming in droves from the countryside. The weather is not doing anyone favours here- the dreary October mist envelops the place and the lack of sunlight makes the place more oppressive (because during winter, the daylight hours become terribly short in England). People all shudder at the same time as they exit the station, and they try to shield themselves against the cold by withdrawing into their coats.

Nobody particularly stands out in this crowd at this ungodly hour- had it been a bit later, say 11.30am, then one would be able to spot the tourists from the busy workers, with their mouths agape at the thought of money and power being traded by the devilish investment bankers.

And they would be partly right. This is the capital of the United Kingdom after all, and most say, with some pride, that the UK is the financial backbone of the European Union. Of course, the Germans and the French would very much disagree with that, but they would not deny the fact that London remains to this day, one of the three key financial centres in the world, along with New York and Hong Kong.

In this part of the world where people are less significant than the figures in the stock market indices, a man gets out of Cannon Street station at precisely 6.47am. He is wearing a black coat with a crisp, tidy suit underneath, just like all the other men around him. Again, it is paramount to note that there is nothing very interesting about him in his features. It may be because of the lack of light in the surroundings, but still the orange streetlights show his features are quite lacklustre.

He briefly surveys the area before him, and then goes to the right before he draws too much attention to himself for standing still in the middle of the pavement and blocking everyone's path. He walks briskly, just like everyone in the City with a job, and he holds a briefcase in his left hand and a Blackberry in his right. Perhaps one thing of note about him is that he seems to be a bit of a perfectionist- every movement, gait and appearance seem to have been carefully calculated and adjusted. It is a perfectly normal and even admirable trait to have in the City. In short, he fits in like a glove.

Suddenly, his Blackberry buzzes angrily, but only for a second before he whips it to his right ear.

Man: (Still walking) Yes?

Voice: Are you here yet?

Man: (Looks at his watch on his left wrist) No, but I'm on time. I've just got off the train at Cannon Street.

Voice: (Pauses, then sighs darkly) It'll be even better if you got here with a few minutes to spare. After all, we have… many things to discuss, and I am a very busy man.

Man: (Sardonically) I'm sure.

Voice: Call me on this number when you arrive.

Voice: Alright.

He hangs up. He turns the corner and starts to walk towards Bishopsgate. There are a lot of builders at work, renovating various buildings around the City- a typical sight those days. After all, the government has given some incentives (basically a plea/threat) to businesses to give the construction sector a chance to rise out of its ashes after the recent recession. Most of the builders are grateful for it, and so they don't even take coffee or lunch breaks. They, like now, eat bacon butties as they power up their handsaws.

The man passes them by, casually noting the numbers of the buildings. 5… 14… 24. He is getting closer to his destination.

But first, he must have his daily caffeine dose. He cannot possibly hope to work without his coffee, and the one they sell on the trains are shit. He goes into the nearest Pret a Manger branch (almost as common as Starbucks these days). He takes one look at the queue and is disparaged by the length of it- it seems that he isn't the only one who has had to get up very early to get into work. However, he still queues like a dutiful Briton.

Server: (Shouts) Yes please? Need any hot drinks?

The server is looking at him with a friendly, but still half-awake smile.

Man: Yes, I'd like to have double espresso please.

Server: (Turns to his colleague) Double espresso, Dominic! On the double! (Looks at the man) It's coming right up, sir. (Looks at someone behind him) Yes please?

The man has to wait quite a bit before he gets his hand on the coffee, so he looks around for any food he would like to have. He contemplates whether he would be able to eat before his work for the day finishes, and decides to settle on a croissant. After a while, he finally gets to the front of the queue, and pays for the coffee and the croissant. He then moves towards one of the tables with sugar and a stirrer. He puts an ample amount of sugar into the espresso- he has a rather sweet tooth.

He drains the espresso before throwing it into the rubbish bin. He exits the shop while eating the croissant on the go. He is careful not to let any crumbs fall on his dark coat.

The dark, tall building in the middle of Bishopsgate is his destination. It houses the international media corporation, Bluecorp inc. It has an iron grip on the British journalism industry, producing broadsheets such as the Times as well as tabloids such as the Sun. The man notes that the building isn't as ostentatious on the surface as the CEO, Redd White. He finishes off his croissant before entering the building.

There are two receptionists at duty, along with three security guards guarding the electronic pass gates. The man looks at his watch- it is 7.06am. Slightly late, but he doesn't give a damn. He clears his throat and approaches one of the reception ladies.

Receptionist: May I help you?

Man: Yes, I have a meeting with Mr White this morning.

Receptionist: Ah, hold on a second, I'll just check the records for today… (Checks the record then remembers something) Oh, you must be the special guest Mr White's personal assistant had mentioned! Please, take this visitor pass. Mr White's office is on the twelfth floor. I'll call ahead and let the PA know you are here.

Man: Thank you very much.

Receptionist: (Smiles) My pleasure. Have a good day.

The man takes his visitor pass and flashes it at one of the security guards. He nods and opens up one of the electronic gates for the man. Once inside, the man takes out his phone and dials the number he has been given. The person answers immediately.

Man: I'm here, White.

White: (Slightly reproachfully) You sure took your time.

Man: (Bored) Impatient, are we? … I can take as long a time I want. I'm not your employee, after all… unless you have needs for my services for yourself?

White: (Hurriedly) No, no, no, that won't be necessary, thank you very much. (Pauses) Well, the receptionists should be expecting you-

Man: I've already… charmed my way in.

White: (chuckles) Touché. Well, I'll be waiting on the twelfth floor. Why don't you charm your way in again, this time with my PA?

Man: …

White: And I hope you like my little attempt at humour.

Man: What humour?

White hangs up, ignoring his question. The man looks down at the visitor pass he has been given while waiting for one of the elevators to arrive. _John Shepard_. He smiles crookedly, and sighs outwardly. So Redd White did know about him… unsurprising given the line of his work.

An elevator finally arrived, and a group of people along with the man hurried to enter it. When he pressed the button for the twelfth floor, he is given some curious looks and stares, but no attempt at chitchat is made. Good, he would like it to stay that way.

He is the last to get off the elevator, the obvious reason being the building having only twelve floors. He is greeted with a nice, airy large room where the personal assistant is sitting, busy typing something with her manicured nails.

PA: (Still looking at the screen) Can I help you, sir?

The man pauses. He looks at her very closely. She looks familiar, but he cannot place her face in his memories. After a few seconds, she tears her eyes from the screen.

PA: Can I… Oh.

Her eyes widen for a second, as if she is surprised to see him standing there, but she quickly regains her composure. She clears her throat anxiously.

Man: John Shepard. Mr White is expecting me now.

PA: (Looks at him very thoughtfully) Ah yes, of course! Mr Shepard, was it? The ground floor receptionist informed me a short while ago. I'm so sorry about the delay, I thought for a moment that you were someone else. Mr White is indeed expecting you. (Gets up from her seat) Please, I'll show you the way to his office. But first, do you need anything? Coffee? Tea?

Man: No, thank you. I just had one.

PA: Then follow me.

They walk in silence. The woman is clearly beautiful, in her 30s and does well for herself. Her makeup and clothes are tasteful and elegant, complimenting her blonde hair and green eyes. The man still is trying to see if he can remember ever seeing her… He could have sworn that he has, at some point in his life. She clearly seems to have been surprised to see him, and that means she at least knows of him and his work…

Finally, they stop in front of a rather large and lavish office.

PA: Here we are. I hope you have a pleasant stay, Mr Shepard. If you need anything, just ask for me. I'll be around.

She turns to leave for her desk when the man looks at her one more time and calls out to her.

Man: Do we know each other?

The PA turns around and looks at him with meaningful eyes. She smiles.

PA: So it is you. (Sarcastically) Observant, aren't you? (Pauses) I believe we know each other through… our mutual acquaintance. I'll leave it to you to figure out the rest. (Emphatically) Mr Shepard.

The man suddenly understands completely. He nods once, satisfied. She winks, and turns away and walks back to her desk. He pushes the door to the huge office with the gold plaque 'Redd White'.

At once, he sees a large, muscular (some would say rather like a bodybuilder) man smoking a cigar at his desk. His office is very lavishly decorated with proper wood furniture and expensive computer and chairs, and the view is nothing to scoff at either. There are a couple of valuable art pieces here too, the man notices Damien Hirst on the wall.

White: Come in, come in, and close the door will you?

Man: A nice office you've got here. (Points at one of the artworks) Hirst?

White: (Smiles, flashing his brilliant white teeth) You're right. It is Hirst. You have a good eye. I've got plenty more at home, but that's for another time. (Puts down his cigar on the ashtray) Now, to business.

Man: (Frowns) Is it safe here?

White looks at him, deep in thought, for a moment. He then gets up all of a sudden and towards the door.

White: You're right taking every precaution given the circumstances… This way.

_Picus Get to the Funicular Stress- Michael McCann, Deus Ex: Human Revolution_

They briskly approach towards the emergency exit. White types in the codes on the keypad next to the door, and the door opens with a beep. They are in a huge stairwell, officially designed for emergency escape in situations like the 9/11. But it is more often used as smoking areas for staff. Though the building regulations forbid it, people do it anyway, especially when the weather is cold, dreary and wet outside, which happens very often in London.

Man: Are you quite sure we're safe to talk here?

White: (Irritably) Yes. Look… (Points at the doors blocking the way downstairs) the stairs on my floor are sealed off by doors that require passcodes to get in. (Sighs) Now, I really don't have much time, I have plenty of clients to see after you-

Man: Cut the bullshit and we'll be out of here in no time.

White glares at him, but he seems to be unable to come up with a comeback.

Man: The information you've given me a couple of days ago. Is the source reliable? (Takes out a cigarette of his own) Mind?

White: Yes, and no, I don't. (Waits until the man lights up) The source has been thoroughly checked by the best of my people.

Man: Good. (Takes a long drag) Let's go through the details again to see if there are any discrepancies.

White: Right, of course. Firstly, you're to go to the Crown Prosecution Service, Southwark branch in an hour. There'll be a cab waiting for you outside in fifteen minutes. The first target is Byrne Faraday, the Director of Public Prosecutions.

Man: And I'm to go to the receptionist named Cindy Stone. She'll take me up to the stairwell for me to get up to the eighth floor, where his office is.

White: So far, so good. (Smugly) Seems like you have the right idea.

Man: (Pointedly) It all depends how well your people have done their jobs. (Takes a drag of his cigarette) I can't risk-

White: (Angrily) We are the very best people in the business, that's why our… mutual acquaintances have hired us. The security footage is already in loop and all the security staff will look the other way when you come in. (Disdainfully) I think it is you who haven't proven your abilities to anyone yet.

Man: (Smiles wickedly) I have my methods. (Casually taps the ash onto the clean floor.) And it's a good thing that nobody knows how I do my job because there are no witnesses.

White: (Pauses) Now you're making me more curious. So where will you set up the ambush for Faraday? And how will you do the killing?

Man: Do we need to talk about this? It is a very unsavoury subject.

White: Oh believe me, this whole affair is, but I need the details and report to one of our mutual acquaintance.

The man eyes him up, contemplating on what he should tell White.

Man: I'll set up an ambush in the toilet. I'll be poisoning him with-

Suddenly, a crash is heard above them, and a whimper. They both jump in fright, and the man immediately takes out his a handgun from his inner jacket pockets.

_Picus Get to the Funicular Mix- Michael McCann, Deus Ex: Human Revolution _

Man: (Whispering) I thought this was a safe place to talk.

White: (Whispering) It is! I don't know how anyone could have got in! Nobody but and the building proprietors and I know the passcode- (He stops talking.) Shit.

The man gives him a scathing look, and then sprints up the stairs. The snoop starts to run up the stairs as soon as he hears the man coming up the stairs, but he is too late. He is caught almost instantaneously and is struck across the head violently.

White: (Shouts) De Killer!

White comes up the stairs to join the scene. De Killer looks at him for explanation. White crouches down at the unknown man, and he looks at the toolbox lying on the floor.

White: (Furiously) Must be one of the repairmen here, damn it! Oh, why did the proprietors have to call someone in today? I told them not to, the fuckers! (Spits) Shit! Shit, shit, shit! We've been compromised now!

De Killer: (Annoyed) Yes, and with no less thanks to you as well as this person. (Examines the man) I've knocked him unconscious as soon as I was able, with some considerable force too. Hopefully he'll have trouble remembering our little conversation because of a concussion…

White: (Genuinely frightened) That's NOT ENOUGH! What if he does remember, even with a concussion? He'll tell the police, and my business, my life will be utterly ruined forever! Oh, oh, oh… (Clutches his head in agony)

De Killer: Calm down, I'm thinking for God's sake, White! You're not helping!

White, trembling, picks up the visitor's pass pinned to the man's shirt.

White: (Stuttering) Y-y-yep, definitely a vi-vi-vi-visiting builder. F-f-f-f-uck's sake, what am I to do! Tell me de Killer! You're the expert in this kind of work!

De Killer ignores him for a moment. He examines the man thoroughly- he is well built because of his occupation. The man is of a mixed decent, with brownish skin and curly afro hair. De Killer takes the man's visitor pass from White, who is kneeling beside the unconscious man, clearly very afraid. _Manny Coachen._ De Killer then looks back and from the pass to the man, then something clicks within him.

De Killer: I may have a complicated solution to this…

White: (With hope) You do?

De Killer: Yes. Complicated, but a solution nonetheless… (Straightens up) I'll have to inform our mutual acquaintances about this sudden disruption to our plans, including your negligence. (White groans.) And we'll have to put extra effort for it to work… but (Stares at White from the bottom of his pitiless eyes) that will be much better than going to jail and having all your assets confiscated, hmm?

White nods vigorously. He is clearly very afraid of the builder, Manny Coachen, revealing the conversation to the police.

De Killer: Good. Well, (Offers White a hand) we better get to work then. If we do this successfully, this will be nothing but a hitch in the plans. Are you with me?

White takes his hand and gets up with his help. The two men look at each other, and both look at the unconscious man, as accomplices.


End file.
